


For the Ends of Being and Ideal Grace

by theglamourfades



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awesome Wanda Maximoff, F/M, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sweet Vision (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglamourfades/pseuds/theglamourfades
Summary: Wanda Maximoff is many things: brave, patient, determined, kind. Vision understands all of this and admires her. Friendship certainly exists between the two, but love - could it ever be a possibility?
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: ScarletVision Fic Exchange 2020





	For the Ends of Being and Ideal Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemis_Egeria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Egeria/gifts).



> Happy ScarletVision Appreciation Day, especially to Artemis_Egeria who this fic is written for. I am such a fan and admirer of your ScarletVision fic and I hope that you enjoy this one.
> 
> The prompt request was: "I'd love to see the moment either Wanda or Vision realized they loved the other."

She was honest.

At first she spent most of her time away from training sessions and mealtimes in her room. She could go for hours without seeing anyone, remaining largely quiet when she was in the presence of the team as a whole. Mr Stark would occasionally make remarks that were intended to be humorous when she spent longer than was usual in the common room, such as _"who's the new girl? I can't say that I recognise her"_ or _"I've gotta work on tightening security, because it looks like we've got an intruder."_ Both Captain Rogers and Mr Barton, when he paid visits to the Avengers compound, expressed concern that Miss Maximoff was 'hiding herself away'.

For his own part, Vision did not consider this to be true. The contextual evidence, however, gave good and ample reason for her to do so.

Often, when taking in his daily tour of the compound (made so as to comprise part of a regular exercise plan, but also for his own recreation), he would stop outside her door, attention arrested by the sound of crying. It took several days for him to transform his concern into action, as he did not wish to intrude. His first gentle knock upon the door and call of her name was not met with a negative response. Instead she opened it to him, with tears still streaming down her face. She wiped at one half with the sleeve of the hooded cardigan that she wore while she met her gaze with his.

"Miss Maximoff," he began, slightly hesitant, his primary feeling one of distress for her emotional state, "I am unsure of the appropriateness of asking you if you are _okay_ , as the evidence would suggest that you are not."

She sniffed, something resembling a smile passing over her lips, albeit briefly. "No. That is, I'm not really okay, not that it's not okay for you to ask me if I am. I'm actually glad that you did. It makes me feel less like I'm a ticking bomb that people are too afraid to go near."

"Then I am pleased that I decided to carry my thought through."

"You've been coming up here for a few nights, haven't you?"

"I…" He found himself thrown by her question, as well as the intensity held in her glassy green eyes. "Forgive me, Miss Maximoff, it was not my intention to cause you further upset. If I have offended you I will leave –"

"No," she spoke before he could finish his sentence, opening the door slightly wider, affording him a greater glimpse at her personal surroundings. He averted his gaze, keeping it firmly fixed upon Miss Maximoff herself. "Please, don't. I would like the company for a little while."

She smiled for longer this time, which made him feel that it was acceptable to do the same in return.

"That is very accommodating of you, Miss – "

"Wanda," she said, her voice shaking a little, "that's the only thing I ask."

"Wanda."

Her given name was pleasant and soothing to say, giving him a feeling of serenity.

"Thank you," he uttered upon entering her room, to which she responded with another smile, one which reached up to her eyes and seemed to make them sparkle.

He went to her room most evenings, by her request, to talk or simply to be quiet. She was open with him in her own space and when she cried (which was often, at first) she made no attempt to turn away or lessen what she felt because he was there. Some nights she would cry until she fell into a sleep. While it hurt him to know that she experienced such sorrow the fact that she was not afraid for him to be witness to it – that, despite what others thought, she refused to hide – filled him with admiration for her.

She was brave.

She was patient.

He liked to socialise with all members of the Avengers team, even when he found some of their methods of relaxation not entirely in line with his own interests. In return, they were accommodating to his curiosity; however, he noticed that they could quickly tire of his observations and questions (Mr Stark did warn him about the level of inquiry into the personal pursuits of others, with the recommendation that he _"dial it down"_ ).

Wanda, however, did not.

He noticed that she liked to cook and did so more frequently, spending more of her free time in the kitchen as opposed to her room as the months went on. He would always ask whether she minded him sitting and watching her as she prepared a dish, and she would always reply with the same answer: _you can do whatever you want to, Vizh._

One particular evening she was cooking something that had a magnificent aroma. Even though he did not require food for sustenance, and therefore he did not experience hunger, he found himself developing what he recognised was a craving for whatever it was that she was making. He observed her picking up a jar of vivid red spice, sprinkling a small amount into the pot and stirring for a time before she dipped a spoon in for a taste.

Standing on the other side of the counter, where he had been drawn by the escalating scent, a rapid scan of JARVIS's database provided him with the answer.

"Paprikash." A delicacy throughout Eastern Europe, but of particular popularity in Sokovia.

Wanda smiled up at him; a smile that he was becoming familiar with. "I guess I was feeling homesick. Well, more than usual. Our mother used to make it at least once a week for us, and whenever we were sad about something she would surprise us…"

Her words trailed off, and she took a moment to compose herself, staring down at the contents of the bubbling pot.

"I'm not doing a very good job of lifting my spirits," she laughed, looking up at him again.

"I believe that once you taste the finished product you will achieve your goal," he offered after a moment's consideration, "and judging by the aroma, I am quite certain that the others would very much appreciate the dish too."

She brightened, a light that was almost corporeal entering her eyes.

"Wanda, would you…that is, you are certainly free to dismiss me if you wish…"

"Vizh," she tipped her head to the side slightly, almost as if she were to admonish him though her tone suggested differently. "We're friends. You can ask me anything."

"Ah, yes," he answered, pleased that she recognised him as a friend and not merely a teammate. "Would you be happy to observe and guide me as I attempt to learn to cook? Though I have no need myself, I believe that I would find it an engaging activity. Also, it would help me to ingratiate further with the rest of the team, or so that is my understanding."

"Of course, Vizh," she replied, with an open expression. "Though, you know, you don't need to do anything to make anyone like you any more than they already do. You're great just the way you are."

He experienced another rush of affirmation upon hearing her statement, uttered with such confidence.

"And so are you, Wanda. You are more than you think of yourself."

Her face contorted for a moment or two, and he was filled with a worry that he had said something insulting, though he did not mean it as such. He did however believe that she had a tendency to misrepresent herself, dwelling upon the worst of her actions, which were not caused by any faults that she had.

"Thank you, Vision," she said, in a quieter voice, stilling the hand that stirred. Her gaze tore through him, though that was a physical impossibility. "That means a lot to me."

He registered the upward curve of his mouth, settling into place. "Oh, you are very welcome."

Already he was eagerly anticipating his first lesson.

She was generous.

She was determined.

It was evident that the powers that she possessed were phenomenal. Very little argument – at least none with any significant basis or persuasion - could be made against her being the strongest member of the team. It took some time for her to bring her abilities under control; he was aware of her having additional training sessions with Captain Rogers, and noticed that she became calmer and more self-assured as the weeks progressed.

Her style of combat became refined as part of her practice. While she had always been mesmerising, her actions were previously defined by dynamism, sharp edges and magnetic energy that could frequently throw her off-balance (and which he had been frequently warned by Miss Romanoff about flying to her aid). Now she held herself with grace, hovering in the air whilst maintaining poise and delicacy. Her arms extended in the manner of waves lapping upon a silent shore, fingers unfurling one by one, unhurried but precise. The scarlet that flowed from her fingertips started slow, her hands curling and curving, portraying the finely-tuned skill of an artist. It built steadily and through stealth, almost invisible to the untrained eye, until scarlet surrounded her, illuminating and accentuating her influence.

Entirely remarkable.

Miss Romanoff was responsible for the pairings, in this particular session electing to team Wanda with Colonel Rhodes, and himself with Sergeant Wilson. While the battle was equally matched initially, it quickly became far more one-sided after Wanda demonstrated a particularly striking display.

The only functioning sense at his disposal appeared to be that of sight, and a peripheral perception of hearing; in every other respect, he found himself completely paralysed.

The battle was over before it had really even begun, and he was aware that it was largely down to his ineffectuality. The only consolation came in the fact that no party had been injured to any serious degree.

While Colonel Rhodes helped Sergeant Wilson back onto his feet, Wanda touched down in front of him.

"I'm sorry," she uttered, "I didn't have to go so big."

"There is no need to apologise." He focused his gaze upon where she stood, still feeling somewhat dazed. "Your powers are magnificent, and you need not downplay them for my sake."

There was a slight pinkness in her cheeks; he assumed that it was likely due to the physical exertion.

"Well, you can usually take what I have to hand out." A smile accompanied her fair remark.

"I must be experiencing what Mr Stark would term _an off day_."

"As long as you're okay."

A shadow drew itself over her previously relaxed expression, and he was so intent upon regarding her face that he was oblivious to her hand reaching out towards him, fingers brushing against his right bicep. He withdrew at the contact, experiencing a disconcerting sensation that acknowledged itself as a prickling beneath his skin.

Wanda's eyes widened at his reaction, which had been entirely instinctive.

"Vizh? Is everything alright?"

"Yes."

His reply to her was not disingenuous; the sensation, which had simultaneously displayed itself as a brief burning and tightening within where his stomach would be if he had such physiological features, had abated as quickly as it had begun. Aside from its unexplained appearance, he felt as he would normally do. Delayed shock manifesting itself, perhaps.

"I think I will return to my quarters."

She nodded, bringing her arm back down to her side, remaining quiet for a few seconds. "I'll see you later?"

"Of course." He schooled his features into an expression that was elevated above neutral, in order to offer reassurance.

On his way to the upper level – he elected to walk the stairs rather than flying, as he did not trust the regular functioning of his abilities for the present time – he heard Sergeant Wilson calling to him. He halted in his ascent, allowing the Sergeant to catch up to him.

"I must offer my apologies for my inadequate performance today. There appears to be a problem, though I am unsure of what is causing it."

"Hey, no worries. It happens to the best of us." Sergeant Wilson paused, a smile that appeared knowing spreading across his face. "I think I have a good idea of what's making you spaced out. Or _who_."

"I'm afraid I do not follow, Sergeant."

"Wanda."

He was quick to come to her defence. "Miss Maximoff was making use of her abilities in an entirely fair sense."

Sergeant Wilson dropped his gaze momentarily, his smile widening. "I don't want to embarrass you or anything. Having a crush is a totally normal thing, especially when a group of people are living together as close as we are."

"Sergeant – "

A hand clapped upon his shoulder. "It's okay, I'm not going to say anything. You have my word."

Sergeant Wilson was a reliable man; he had not needed to preface his statement, though it did come as a comfort.

"Well," he spoke again, removing his hand from where it lay, "maybe to recommend to Nat that she pairs you guys up from now on."

In his room he seated himself comfortably, centering his thoughts. He cleared his mind as much he was able to and called up the definition from JARVIS's database.

_informal_ **_:_ ** _to experience an intense and usually passing infatuation_

_a feeling of foolish or obsessively strong love for, admiration for, or interest in someone or something_ **_:_ ** _strong and unreasoning attachment: the object of an unreasoning or foolish attachment_

The further he probed, the more ill-at-ease he became. He felt a physical distress at considering that he could harbor such unhelpful and demeaning feelings towards Wanda. It did not encapsulate what he felt at all. He certainly admired her, in many ways and for many reasons. He regarded her as a firm friend, one who shared values he was coming to hold dear and understood him when it appeared nobody else did. Was it a given consequence that such positions engendered terrible outcomes? He respected Wanda; he did not wish to reduce her to an object for the means of pleasing his intrusive thoughts.

Aesthetics seemed to be the basis for such infatuations. He contemplated the fact – for it was one – that she was beautiful. Yet it was plain to him that her beauty surpassed any physical attributes. It demonstrated itself in her courage to keep living in the worst circumstances, along with her kindness in showing him such understanding and being so generous with her time.

He thought of her hands, weaving magic. Unfathomable and inexplicable.

Absolutely wonderful.

The other word hovered at the edges of his consciousness, the one that nestled between the others. _Love._ It was something that he was intrigued by. Whether he yearned for it...he could not determine. It seemed to be the basis for being human, and therein lay his failing.

If he could love, then surely all that he could offer was but an imitation. Wanda, as glorious as she was in her very soul, deserved much more.

He believed that she deserved the world – _no_ , the universe.

A gentle and haunting melody of strings plucked by hesitant fingers caused him to smile, soothing the chaos in his mind. Later there was a knock on his door, a smile hidden in irises the colour of revival (which held only the faintest remnant of scarlet, a reminder of all that she was capable of).

He welcomed her in with a genuine smile of his own, recognising that he should perhaps turn her away, but finding it impossible to do so.

* * *

She was defiant.

Below, music played, interrupted with ripples of laughter and murmurs of conversation. His hearing was so advanced that he could tune into each individual exchange, even from the distance he was at, if he believed that it would prove helpful. But it would not, and his focus remained elsewhere, away from the party that continued.

Mr Stark had been clear in laying boundaries from the outset, telling the many guests that they would not be permitted in the upper levels of the compound, stating in his genial manner that _"Avengers need their privacy too"._ Though it seemed to be the case that the assembled members of the media, business and other influential professions who comprised the guestlist were compliant, Vision undertook a thorough perusal of the second floor to be assured that this remained so before making his way to Wanda's room.

Surprisingly her door was ajar rather than shut, and he hesitated for a few moments, though he wished to be certain of her current state. He was not sure that he could mollify it in any way, nor did he believe that it would be the best course of action to attempt to do so.

She did not look towards him when he knocked, making his step over the threshold uncertain. However she did not express disapproval in him being there. The muffled sound of uptempo music did not make for the ideal accompaniment, and, unfortunately, he was at a loss for anything meaningful to say.

"Did Stark send you to make sure I wasn't plotting anything?"

At her words he put one foot behind the other, curbing his advance.

"No, Wanda." He looked at her, although he felt that the simple act was one of intrusion at the current moment. "I wished to ascertain how you were. Under my own volition."

"I'm sorry." Her gaze lost some of its defensive edge after she sighed, pulling the long sleeves of the pyjama top she was wearing further down past her hands. He had not expected that she would have remained in the crimson dress which Miss Romanoff had provided her with for the evening. While it was very striking he observed that she looked much more at ease in wearing the casual attire of nightwear coupled with sweatpants. "That wasn't fair."

"I would tend to disagree."

She tilted her head, inviting him to sit beside her once he had closed the door, in an attempt to further block out the distant noise of the party.

"Do they suspect anything?" she asked after a couple of minutes had passed by, her voice pitched lower than was regular.

"Captain Rogers advised that if asked, we were to say that you had taken ill."

She nodded, her chin dropping to her chest. The routine returned once more, but he did not mind the silence. He sensed that Wanda had had enough of talking in the hours that had preceded. At least of questions, which for a period had appeared to be rather relentless.

It was all part of the role, they had been told. While he recognised the importance of establishing a harmonious relationship with the media he was not convinced that their approval should be courted to the extent that it had been today. A press conference followed by a small gathering would have been acceptable. Then again, he was learning that Mr Stark did not like to do anything by halves or leave anything to chance.

The events of the day had taken a toll on Wanda, who had been the most reluctant of the new recruits to take part. Vision could understand why; for someone who had spent a significant part of her life being observed and scrutinised, such a prospect was not an inviting one. She had dealt well with facing the crowd of reporters, not saying much but remaining quietly composed, daring to look anyone in the eye.

He knew that she had been more than ready for a more relaxed evening, and found it harder to keep her polite smile in place when the party began. Not an hour had passed when he noticed that she had gone missing, and as Miss Romanoff dealt with breaking the news to Mr Stark, he went in search of her, aware that her patience had been wearing and her anxiety levels higher than normal.

She turned her gaze from the wall to face him, her complexion as pale as if she really were unwell.

"How did you find the party, Vizh?"

"I would be more than pleased if they occurred as infrequently as possible."

She huffed a short laugh. "Pietro would have loved it. Any chance to show off, he would take it. So long as he was there, taking the spotlight, then I could hide behind him. He was my shield, that way."

He watched her picking at her sleeves, her movements restless.

"He would have handled being an Avenger much better than I am," she continued, a note that he found more than slightly troubling apparent in her voice.

His eyes were conflicted between looking at her face and her hands, which remained hidden. An urge rose within him to reach his own hand out to take hers, to offer reassurance with more than words.

Caught by more than indecision, he did not act upon it.

"While I have no doubt that your brother would have excelled, you should not underestimate yourself."

He wanted to tell her more, that she was her own person and more than adept at handling whatever came her way in her own capacity, but he did not want to undermine the importance of the bond that would always exist between her and her twin.

Words were strangely caught upon his lips more frequently when it came to her.

"I want to do good," she said, strength finding its way back slowly, "I do not want to be paraded. Surely one can come without the other."

"It helps to have them on our side."

Her expression hardened. "Why? They will always find other reasons, ones that do not exist."

"I do not see what benefit that would provide."

She looked away from him, down into her lap, and he found that harder to bear than being confronted with her defences.

"It's not you I'm angry with, Vizh. I'm angry _for_ you."

Before he could enquire as to the reason, her eyes were upon him again. There was a fire within them which had been missing for the entirety of the day, the kind that could be glimpsed during training sessions when she was clawing her way back from defeat, shoring up her energies.

"The way they spoke about you, as if you were an object rather than a person. Asking their questions to Stark rather than addressing them to you. It shouldn't be allowed. They should feel ashamed of themselves."

"People are afraid of the things they do not understand. They seek knowledge from what is familiar to assure themselves. I do not take offence, and I would rather you did not either, although I am glad for your concern, of course."

Her smile was small but it was visible in her eyes as well as upon her lips. "You're so good, Vizh. I wish I could be more like you."

The words failed him once more. He wanted to tell her many things, about how she had no need to change any aspect of her being. He felt foolish as all he could do was murmur an _oh, thank you,_ his gaze trained upon her lips as they curved upon her face.

They sat there for a while, talking about triviality, which he found comforting in the circumstances. It felt as though he had learned more about her in the space of one hour than in the months that had passed since they had first been installed in the compound. He did not wish for their conversation to come to an end, though he did notice that Wanda's eyes were becoming somewhat heavy.

From beneath the floor the music seemed quieter, although the voices had become more prominent.

"I don't think it's going to end any time soon," Wanda sighed.

Vision shook his head in agreement. "Would you like to watch a movie? Of course, if you are too tired, it can wait until another day."

It did occur to him that it was a rather ill-advised suggestion considering that it was highly likely that she would fall asleep swiftly and therefore miss most of the picture.

She smiled at him. "That would be great."

He found himself smiling back at her, unconcerned at this moment as to the successful conclusion of the venture. It was a privilege to spend more time with Wanda, and not one which he took lightly.

"Vizh?" he heard her murmur, and turned to find her sitting cross-legged upon the bed.

"Yes, Wanda?"

Her eyes were wide and appeared hopefully pleading, her hands upon her feet. "Could you get some cookies from the kitchen? If it won't keep you too long, that is."

The request, or perhaps the way in which it was uttered, was one which was impossible to refuse.

"I am sure that I will find a way."

* * *

When Mr Stark and Captain Rogers put forward the proposition, Vision could not help feeling apprehensive. He wasn't entirely sure why. Making a visit to the New York-Presbyterian Komansky Children's Hospital qualified as civic duty for an Avenger, and it most certainly did not pose any level of threat. As Captain Rogers recalled his own previous visits to the very same hospital, he was truly humbled and interpreted following in the Captain's footsteps as a great honour.

Yet at the same time he struggled to visualise himself there, interacting with the children. He understood it as an unavoidable fact that some children fell ill, and the ratio of which was considerably weighted to favourable outcomes. Though it was an impossibility to resolve he still felt sorrow that the most innocent of all should suffer, in some cases for the majority of their short lives.

It was when Colonel Rhodes enquired to whether there would be any members of the press accompanying them on their visit and Mr Stark, after some moments hesitating, answered in the affirmative, that his conflicted emotions erred heavily towards the side of caution. Mr Stark was quick to reassure, insisting that there would be " _no more than two. Maybe three, a camera guy for NBC. He's a good guy, I swear,"_ he answered when both Captain Rogers and Miss Romanoff looked at him somewhat disapprovingly. _"You'll forget they're even there once you see the kids and how excited they are to meet real life Avengers."_ He laid a hand upon the left side of his chest, tilting his head backwards. _"Nothing else matters. You're going to carry their smiles with you for the rest of time."_

He glanced over to Wanda, noticing how she fumbled with her fingers. She too was uncertain, at least since the media had been mentioned, which was unsurprising. He sought her once the meeting was concluded, gaining some further indication of her feelings through the mental vibrations that the Mind Stone seemed to tune into instinctually, which disconcerted him slightly. Wanda herself did not voice any objections. It worked both ways; she could discern his emotions, which were far from being level at this point in time.

"I am dubious that my appearance will be of merit," he confessed as the gathering dispersed, and they were left alone on the sofa. "I shall take the matter up with Captain Rogers after dinner."

"It won't be the same without you. Besides, I'm pretty sure they want us all there for maximum effect." She sounded cynical for a moment. "Are you afraid?"

There was little use in trying to disguise what he truly felt, especially from Wanda. Her eyes held the same softness that often occurred when they were speaking privately.

"It seems rather illogical, I am aware. That I should be unmoved by the curiosities and conjecture of adults, but anxious when it comes to children."

"Oh no, Vizh." She laid a hand gently upon his forearm, fingertips brushing the cotton of his sweater. "I think that's perfectly understandable. But I also think it'll be okay. No," she paused to retract in her line of thinking, "I _know_ it will."

"Forgive me if I remain unconvinced."

She laughed lightly, and he felt himself put at ease momentarily. "We'll stick together, okay? I doubt Stark would argue about that anyway. I can be there if you feel uncertain, and you can check that I'm behaving as I should."

He frowned at the insinuation he was there primarily to monitor her. "Wanda – "

"I'm kidding," she smiled, "for the most part, anyway. You're my best friend, Vizh. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. It'll help me too."

He could feel the small reverberations, the quieting of her thoughts as the notion bedded down in her mind. It appeared to have a similar effect on him too.

"Thank you, Wanda. I am glad that I did not hasten in my dismissal."

The sensations associated with increased anxiety affected him to varying degrees in the days leading up to the arranged visit. Captain Rogers had thought it best not to accompany the quartet, believing that he was at risk of taking up the spotlight, so to speak, if he did join them. In the hours immediately before Vision found it near-impossible to settle, excusing himself while the others ate breakfast to fly in a few circuits above the compound.

Knowing that he could not keep escaping from that to which he was bound, even if only within his mind, he touched down in ample time before they were due to depart. Both Sergeant Wilson and Colonel Rhodes were quite talkative, which allowed him to remain close to Wanda. She was not short of reassuring glances and smiles, as well as the occasional quiet word, spoke low enough to not interfere with the conversation of their teammates.

His first thought was that it did not conform to his expectations of what a hospital would look like. Rainbows, flowers and portrayals of various wild animals were painted upon the walls, and accompanying them were many drawings on pieces of brightly coloured paper. Looking closely, he observed that several were likenesses of Captain America, Iron Man, Thor and Black Widow, imagined by young minds and hands.

Two young, kind-looking nurses were their guides, reinforcing the plans for the morning. The visit would last no longer than two hours, so as not to tire out the more vulnerable children, but they would get to see all of the wards. The voices of the nurses were enthusiastic as they recounted some of the previous visits from the original Avengers, and they seemed certain that the children would be excited to meet the new recruits. While assured that their thinking was accurate, Vision was also held by the distant prospect that some of the children at least would also be disappointed not to see the heroes that they were familiar with and cherished.

"Well, here's where we break off," the female nurse issued cheerfully. "Falcon and War Machine, you're with me, and Scarlet Witch and The Vision, you'll be with Aaron. Have fun!"

Aaron led the way to the first of the wards on the circular route, a room that was painted in a soft blue shade and featured sea creatures on the walls. There were around twenty children, in beds that were evenly distributed around the generous space.

Several pairs of eyes fell upon him within seconds of them entering, and much to his relief, none of them showed fear at his unusual form. The children were not fazed in the slightest by him and did not ask questions about why he looked the way he did, nor did they retreat as he came near. Instead they were captivated by the yellow glow of the Mind Stone and delighted by the cape of a similar hue that hung from his shoulders. A couple were particularly inquisitive, prodding their small fingers against the vibranium plating upon his face and neck. Others stretched their arms out for hugs, which he did not expect that he would give but that he was very happy to do.

Indeed, talking with several of the children occupied so much of his time that he almost did not think to look for Wanda or judge whether she was close by. While Rosie, a little girl of around five years old who had taken a particular shine to him scrunched a fistful of his cape in one of her hands, nestling close by his side, he looked across the room to find her.

It was no understatement of the truth to say that the world around him shifted, sound and colour both intensifying, opening up at the same time as his focus narrowed to the width of a singular piece of thread.

Wanda sat, her legs outstretched, next to one boy of about nine years old whose very dark hair made his skin appear almost the colour of snow. His body was curled up tightly, but the longer Wanda paid attention to him it relaxed, limbs stretching to mirror hers. Other children clambered out of their beds to talk to her, and she answered them with attentive smiles and eyes that welcomed. Yet it was noticeable how she always returned to the boy who did not seem to say anything but edged nearer to her side and looked up at her, rapt.

She lowered her head and spoke, words which Vision could not hear and that he did not want to. Whatever she said had a staggering effect as, mere seconds after she finished and pulled her head up again, the boy – rather than answering with words of his own – began to laugh, the sound getting louder and more full of joy as the minutes progressed.

Wanda laughed too, the smile upon her face free and shining, lighting up the entirety of her being. She had never looked as carefree and so genuinely happy. Her radiance held him completely entranced.

Yet, it was more than that.

The air in the room grew thin, somewhat inexplicably. His heart, as synthetic as it was, felt like it was expanding within his chest and his mind fluttered. Warmth and happiness flowed through him like light; if he was not in possession of logic and scientific proof otherwise he could have very well believed that he was levitating, drifting higher the longer that he beheld the sight that made whatever substance that stood for a soul within him sing.

He had known for a long time that she was kind. It was his favourite thing about her. The kindness she had shown him was entirely without need or reward. Here and now it shone like never before, reflected the purity of her heart. Those with little gave the most of themselves.

He held onto the flurry of feeling that was ignited within him as they moved around the wards. Wanda got on her knees, admired the Avenger figurines that some of the children had, put on displays with the red energy that flowed from her fingertips.

All the while, she smiled that same broad and shining smile.

She had never been so beautiful.

The two hours were filled far quicker than he expected, but he remained in a daze on the journey back to the compound. He was elated to sit beside Wanda in the car but also itched to get away from her, in order to process the revelation that had unveiled itself to him in the space of seconds.

"You were great," she said to him, some of the sparkle remaining in her eyes as they stood at the foot of the staircase. "The children absolutely loved you. Just like I knew they would."

"Oh, I – th – thank you."

She smiled at him and he was left defenceless, the catalyst for chaos exploded in his mind.

As she ascended the stairs he remained dumb, only able to watch her for what felt like an eternity but also time that slipped easily away. He urged himself to say something, _anything_ , before she disappeared from view.

"Wanda?"

She turned around at the crucial moment, saving him from complete foolishness.

"You were wonderful."

The ensuing media reports were all very favourable. He overheard Mr Stark remark that " _out of everyone, who'd have thought Maximoff would be the star?"_ His own thoughts were preoccupied with Wanda to a greater degree than they were before the visit; indeed, it seemed that he could not go more than a couple of minutes without thinking of her and the predicament he now found himself in, being quite certain of his feelings.

He considered making a conscious effort to spend far less time with her than was usual but came to the conclusion that this would be more detrimental, particularly as Wanda would be likely to seek him out and question the change in his behaviour. While it would be impossible to lie to her he did not wish to make her feel as though she was at fault for the situation, or that she was under any obligation to reciprocate.

If he allowed himself to be selfish, he did not wish to endure the pain that would come from purposefully distancing himself from her. Indeed, he did not think it was possible for him to do so.

Some of the times that they were alone, playing a game of chess during an afternoon or watching a movie in the evening, he contemplated saying something aloud. He had a wealth of time to formulate the most acceptable phrasing; the best he had come up with was:

_I'm in love with you, and I don't know what to do._

That in itself was fundamentally flawed, asking for a solution to something that was not a problem. He was content for his love to be unrequited and to remain as Wanda's friend. The best course of action was to say nothing. His actions would greater demonstrate the devotion he felt, with no expectations of anything in return.

A little over a week after the hospital visit they sat together watching a movie in the common area, while the others were occupied with their own interests. It was a perfectly pleasant film and not one which could be interpreted as especially dramatic or sad, which was why it came as a surprise when Wanda started to cry. She got up from the sofa and walked towards the kitchen, her hands cupped to her face to lessen the sound of her sobs.

He followed her shortly after, more concerned than ever about her distress, which in this instance appeared to have no founding.

She shook her head as she caught sight of his eyes, her hands slipping away and exposing her troubled frown. His instinct was to go towards her, as close as would be deemed acceptable in the circumstances.

"I don't know why…" she began, balling a fist to wipe the tears that had gathered.

"I have discovered that there does not need to be a reason," he replied, hoping to provide the comfort that she needed.

"I keep thinking of those children," she supplied, lessening the space that remained between them. Having her so near made his skin feel like it was vibrating. "I know that they're in the best place, and they were all so happy. But it doesn't seem fair."

He nodded, sharing her thoughts and sorrows.

"Pietro and I, we did not grow up with money or possessions but we were lucky. I suppose we never thought about it at the time, and certainly not when the world seemed to be falling apart around our feet. We were healthy and we were happy. Not every day, but for many of them. So many other boys and girls, friends we played with in the street…they were not so fortunate."

Fresh tears began to fall down her cheeks, each a dagger to his chest. He was moved to offer his own reflections, again in the hope that they would do something to put her at some degree of ease.

"Life is fragile, but it is precious, too."

Her eyes peered up at him intently, unmoved for long seconds.

"Vizh," she uttered, "can you hold me?"

Everything within him soared and stuttered; he felt the glory of a thousand sunrises as well as the surging fear of a rising tide. However, he was quick not to hesitate for too long.

"Of course."

He held his frame open but allowed her to be the one to come forward, her slight arms wrapping around him and her torso pressing against his. She turned her head, which lay perilously near to his heart, and exhaled a contented sigh as they remained in place, locked in their embrace.

It was a gesture of friendship and support, freely given as she had asked. For a minute, though, he could believe that it was something more.

"That was nice," she said with a smile, her arms slow to leave his sides, "I feel better now."

"I'm very glad." He paused for a moment, holding onto the feeling before it faded to be replaced by another. "Is there anything else you would like, Wanda?"

She thought for a few seconds. "A glass of water would be good. But I can get that myself, Vizh. You go and sit, I'll be there in a minute."

It seemed like much longer than that until she reappeared, smiling as she settled herself back onto the sofa and in closer proximity to him than she was before. The film continued to its end, and there were no further tears that evening, something that he was certainly pleased about.

Happier still – and even more unexpected than that which had preceded – was when a hand slid into his, completely of her own accord. Perhaps she was not even aware she had done so, at first, and yet it remained in place for a time innumerable.

He held it in wonder, glancing every now and then at her fingers – which held so much power – intertwined with his.

Whatever was to come, all that could not be predicted, he knew that he had fulfilled the fundamental dilemma of his existence.

* * *

The morning light filtered through the kitchen, further lightening the already bright room. While the stove was undoubtedly responsible for the escalated temperature, he liked to imagine the sunshine was contributing in some way. If he had not already had a plan in place he would have contemplated setting up a table on the porch to enjoy the meal. He had hand-picked the tomatoes and herbs that he was now cooking from the garden yesterday evening; it gave him great satisfaction to know that they had been grown by his own labour. The flowers that lay next to the vegetable patch were coming on well too, though not quite ready for picking. Some of them in a small vase would have made the perfect accompaniment.

He could not allow himself to fret about that, however; the most vital of ingredients were all to hand.

He sprinkled some of the herbs onto the selection of eggs which he had arranged into various dishes – scrambled, poached and baked – turning off the sections of the stove that were no longer being used before placing the first lot of bread into the toaster.

"Wow. This really is a feast."

It took him a few moments to vocalise his thoughts; even now she had that effect on him, where the whole world seemed to slow to a fraction of its perpetual motion at the sight of her. First thing in the morning, he was at his most vulnerable. He watched her pass a hand through her tangled dark hair, the night's broken sleep not yet faded from her face.

"Wanda, I was not expecting you."

"Given that we live in the same house, I would like to know who you were expecting." A spark of a smile lit her eyes as she came closer, no doubt lured by the aroma of the food as much as by him. "Judging by _this_ , I'd venture a guess at either Thor or Hulk."

He suppressed showing his amusement, though it was difficult when his wife was so enchanting.

_Wife. Husband._ The words which applied to them still seemed so novel as to send the sensations of thrills coursing through the synapses that comprised him.

"The idea of _breakfast in bed_ is that I serve it to you while you are prone."

He was a little disappointed that she had ventured downstairs, it was true, but she was also not in any manner at fault, considering he had not warned her in advance.

He watched as her face softened, taking a prolonged look at all that he had prepared, her lips widening further as the seconds passed. When she had surveyed everything her eyes rested back on him, holding the greatest meaning of _home_ within them.

"I'm sorry, lyubyj," she said, reaching out a hand towards him, "ty takyj dobryj. I love the way you love me."

He promptly moved the hand that rested upon his cheek towards his mouth to kiss. The sound of Wanda's gentle giggles and sighs lifted his heart as he pressed kisses to each of her fingers, thinking of the strength and tenderness she possessed in equal measure. He proceeded to her wrist, wreathing it with kisses. It had remained his favourite way of showing her how much he adored her, and she enjoyed receiving the show of affection as much as he enjoyed bestowing it, although she was more than a touch ticklish and had to wrest herself away before she became helpless with laughter.

"I just missed you when I woke up, is all." The smile on her face grew when she rested both hands on her stomach. "We all did."

He broke into a grin of his own, revelling once more in the melody of her soft laughter as he placed his own palm to the swell of her bump. It was hard to believe that in less than two months time their happy household would double in size, but not as hard as it had been at the start. It could only have been a miracle, almost unexplainable in how it had come to be.

Wanda had been less interested in the science, soothing his anxious mind with the serenity of hers as they lay in their marital bed. " _Love is greater than any magic"_ was what she had said, which had made him smile. He recalled her kissing his forehead and pulling his hand to her middle, telling him " _I love you more than anything."_

" _I love you too,"_ he had returned to her. Each time he told her felt more significant than the last.

She had smiled when the doctor gave them the news that they were expecting twins, and then cried for a while when they were back at home. He didn't leave her side until the first hint of her smile returned, and he remembered her arms around his shoulders as she threw herself into his embrace.

" _We're going to be parents, Vizh. Mama i Tato."_

"You're going to be such a good father, you know."

She knew that he appreciated her assurances. He had certainly read many parenting books from cover to cover in the past few months but as he had come to realise, abstract knowledge was but a pale imitation of experience.

"And you will be the most amazing mother."

She shrugged her shoulders, hands cradling her stomach. "I hope I will be. If I get a chance to sleep more than I am right now, otherwise I worry that I'm just going to be angry all the time."

"That could not possibly be." He dipped down to press a kiss against her temple, his hands soothing her back. "Remember, you also have a husband who does not require sleep, and so aside from feeding times you need not be disturbed throughout the night."

"I knew there was a reason I married you," she said, smiling wryly.

If it had been but a year ago she would be quick to retract such a statement, even though it was made in jest. Their insecurities had long faded though; his some time before hers, it was true.

Ever since he had been aware of the fact that she had returned the love he felt for her, he had not a thing in the world to be afraid of.

"Ya tebe kohayu," she uttered in almost a whisper, making him smile.

"And I love you. All three of you." He glanced down at her stomach, becoming momentarily lost.

Her hands went to his neck, pulling him into a kiss which he returned with so much happiness. She moved back slowly, the smile imprinted upon her face while her arms remained looped about him.

"Oh, Vizh?" she intoned lightly, her gaze glancing towards the window that overlooked the garden.

The flowers really would have been the ideal finishing touch, he thought once more.

"Yes, Wanda?"

The same window was set next to the cupboard which contained her biggest craving, something which he only realised after she asked the question.

"Could you get some cookies to go with all of this?"

He could do nothing except smile down at her. The love of his life.

"Of course, my darling."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from Sonnet 43 (more commonly known as 'How Do I Love Thee') by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I like to think that Vision would be into poetry. The last two lines of the poem are very sad when you consider the MCU canon ('Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, / I shall but love thee better after death'), but as we're ignoring it here then it's all okay.
> 
> I always use Ukrainian as a Sokovian substitute, translations for the last part:
> 
> lyubyj = dear
> 
> ty takyj dobryj = you are so kind
> 
> Mama i Tato = Mom and Dad
> 
> Ya tebe kohayu = I love you
> 
> I suppose I was influenced by the prospect of Mom!Wanda and Dad!Vision in WandaVision when including the key element of children in here. I couldn't resist the post-Endgame/AU scene at the end, because that's how I always like to think of ScarletVision, and as one of the other prompts I was given was related to fluffy, in-love and alive Vision and Wanda post-Endgame I figured that it was more than okay to include that scene as a kind of epilogue.


End file.
